Out of the shadows
by JennyWren
Summary: After the incident on the first night of Don Juan Triumphant Mme.Giry goes home, only to meet someone she hadn´t expected to see there. But what does he want? Erik Mme.Giry Complete!
1. Chapter One

**Out of the shadows**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". The belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber.

**Author´s notes:** Obviously this is not the sequel to "A wish your heart makes". I want to write this story first since it has been on my mind for quite a while. It should have been a one-shot but I decided to make it a chapter story when I saw it´d become too long. However, I don´t think it´ll have more than a couple of chapter. But we´ll see...

**Chapter One**

The Opéra Populaire resembled a gigantic hive, tonight more than ever before. Crowds of people were rushing in one of two directions, either through the doors and down the street, not even waiting for their coaches to arrive, or into the depths of the building, after _him_, the Phantom, who had abducted Christine Daaé. The managers behaved like frightened horses during a thunderstorm, sometimes running around pointlessly, sometimes too scared to move at all. Carlotta was unusually quiet. Only an occasional sob which escaped her throat gave away that she was still alive as she leaned over her beloved Ubaldo´s dead body.

And I? I had gone home. I had already done too much – or maybe not enough. Though I had not agreed with the young Vicomte´s plan, I had done nothing to stop him in his youthful abandon. And when the plan had failed I had simply shown him the way to the Phantom´s lair, not caring how he´d deal with the older man and his often lethal tricks. Whatever happened down there would be indirectly my fault. Why I hadn´t accompanied him, making sure he also arrived there? Even now, sitting in my living room, I knew no answer to this question. Perhaps I had been frightened what we would find. He could have done violence to the girl, in more than one way. He could have even murdered her. By now I didn´t rule out anything.

There had been times when I hadn´t thought him capable of committing such crimes. I had liked delivering his letters and receiving boxes of chocolates in return. In secret I had approved of most of his decisions regarding singers and musicians. He was a musical genius, that much was certain. And never, not a single time, had he questioned my choice of dancers. This area had always remained mine, and I had been grateful for it. In no other opera would I have had so much freedom, as strange as it might sound with the pressure he had set the managers and M.Reyer under. We two had always gotten along well, maybe because I was the only one who had accepted his authority right away.

The death of Joseph Buquet had changed everything. It had clearly shown that there was a side of the Phantom I had chosen to ignore, shrugging off his activities as practical jokes. Still I had tried to defend him. Maybe it had been an accident or M.Buquet had provoked him. The fact that I hadn´t been too fond of the stagehand had helped a lot. I shook my head. It was so easy to delude oneself if only one tried hard enough.

Yet the reason why I insisted on thinking of a man whom nearly all other people regarded as a dangerous lunatic as a good person remained a mystery to me. Somehow he had grown on me over the years, ever since I had received his first letter, bidding me welcome and asking me to tell M.Lefèvre about the monthly salary he expected. Of course I had been astonished about this request, but right from the start there had been something in his words that made resistance impossible. Besides, he had always been exceptionally friendly and polite. I had often thought that many of the so-called gentlemen who attended a performance mainly to impress the ladies who accompanied them with their clothing could learn a lot from him. No matter how bad the situation was at the moment I wouldn´t forget the day after my husband´s funeral. I had never read a more beautiful and sensitive letter of condolence than the one I had found in Box Five that morning when I had come to work because my house had been unbearably quiet, even with my little Meg trying to comfort me. I had kept it in the top drawer of my desk, and it still gave me strength every time I took it out when Jaques´ birthday or our wedding day approached.

But all this couldn´t make up for what had happened tonight and was probably still happening. Obviously the relationship between Christine and Raoul had made the kind man I knew become a murderer again, just because he had wanted to take Christine with him. I didn´t blame him for loving her. She was a pretty young girl, and as much as he had worked on his image as a mere ghost, he still was a human being. No, I didn´t doubt that the feelings he had for Christine were anything but love, pure and untainted. Yet I despised the way in which he tried to force her to return this emotion. Why couldn´t he simply accept that she loved Raoul?

How easy it was to think about these things rationally when one wasn´t personally involved, but merely watching them from the shadows! I gave short bitter laugh that seemed to echo through the entire house. This made me jump slightly. Under normal circumstances I wasn´t frightened that quickly, but the events of the last hours had left their marks on my nerves. Suddenly I was aware that the room was only lit by a single candelabra. It had been sufficient when I had come home, but now I needed more light.

So I leaned forward, reaching for a candlestick that stood on the table. I was about to stand up to light it when a voice broke the silence like a bolt of lightning. "Don´t do that, madame!" The silver object fell out of my hand and hit the floor with a clattering sound.


	2. Chapter Two

**Author´s note:** I don´t know whether it is necessary to say so explicitely, but the Mme.Giry in this story is the woman from the musical, with some traces of Leroux. She doesn´t come from the movie, so she hasn´t saved Erik from anything. I just wanted to tell you this because it influences the relationship the two have.

**Chapter Two**

Terrified I wanted to shout, but at once a hand with long slim fingers pressed itself tightly over my mouth and nose. All I managed to get out were some choking sounds. The same voice that had spoken before said, now only inches away from my right ear: "I´ll release you if you promise not to scream.". I nodded frantically, and the hand vanished. Gasping for breath I relished in the feeling of air filling my lungs again.

Only then did I turn around, though I had already identified my visitor. "How did you know where I live, monsieur?", I asked. It was a simple question, yet one that held all the others at bay. What was the man the entire population of Paris was searching for doing in my living room? "I´d be a lousy ghost if I hadn´t even picked up the basic facts about the people working in my opera.", he stated. His words were oddly muffled, and I noticed that he held up his cloak to hide his face behind it. Apparently he hadn´t put his mask back on. "It´s not necessary to do that.", I said rather coldly. "I´ve seen you on stage tonight."

"I´ve been told that even once was enough to guarantee a lifetime of nightmares, and I do not wish to torture you with my appearance." To my own surprise I told him: "But this cannot be comfortable.". Why was I treating him like an ordinary guest? But it was true: It was quite warm in the room, and the idea of covering one´s face with a layer of fabric wasn´t very pleasant. "Why don´t you sit down next to me, and I look into the other direction?", I suggested. My surprise increased as he followed my instructions. He even took them literally, settling down next to me so closely that I could feel the coldness of his body. But I discovered soon that the choice of seat had a very rational reason: Like this the chances of me accidentally looking at him were small.

I watched the dancing flames of the candles, waiting for him to do something. Yet he seemed to be content simply sitting here. Minutes passed in absolute silence, and I felt myself growing restless. I still had no idea what had been going on in the cellars after I had left. "Why are you here, Monsieur le Fantome?", I finally addressed him. "How can you call me that?", he asked. I could hear him clearly now, which probably meant that he had lowered his cloak. "I´m neither a phantom nor a ghost. But apparently I´m not a man either. Or is this how your kind treats one of their own, madame?"

I was lost for words. The intention of this address hadn´t been to evoke such profound questions. "Before you haven´t told me what happened I cannot answer. And I didn´t mean to offend you with my choice of name. I just don´t… Do you _have_ a name, monsieur?", I blurted out. A second later I realised that this had sounded even more stupid and insulting than my first remark. "Incidentally I had a name, yes. All _human beings_ do, don´t they?" It was clear how much my tactless question had hurt him, and I swore to myself to be more careful in the future. I didn´t want to find myself in the centre of his fury all of a sudden.

"It´s Erik.", he added, almost as an afterthought. "And may I call you that?" It was amazing that I was actually excited about having got at least some kind of information from him. "Of course, madame.", he replied, returning to his manner of perfect politeness. Yet from the way he shifted in his seat, involuntarily moving against me, I could tell that it was merely superficial, meant to disguise his state of agitation. It didn´t work – even his brief digression hadn´t managed to distract me from what I wanted to know.

"I don´t think you´ve come to my house in the middle of the night on a day like this only to tell me your name. So… what has happened?", I asked stubbornly. A sudden suspicion made me inhale sharply. "Is… is there anything wrong with Meg?" "As far as I know she´s fine. She was among the lovely people who are doubtlessly just turning my house upside down. Picking over the bones…", he hissed scornfully. "_Bones_…", I repeated faintly. "You mean… someone died?"

"No, no!", he said quickly, and I released the breath I had been holding. "No one except me, that is.", he went on in a deadly calm voice. "I died the moment she left me with this… boy. How could she? He´ll never treat her well enough. He isn´t even capable of loving her like I do. He could have found somebody else. But Christine… she belongs to me. I should have killed him when I had the chance to. I was so close… She kissed me, Mme.Giry.", he suddenly addressed me. I had assumed he had forgotten I was there, so I was a little startled about his abrupt change of subject from killing to kissing. "Well… did you enjoy it?" It was the first question that occurred to me, and in a conversation with my daughter it might have even been appropriate.

"It was the worst moment of my life.", he answered in a whisper that made my body shiver uncomfortably. "But why-" "Because it was then that I understood she would go away! What other reason should she have had?" His voice changed yet again, becoming nearly dream-like, but incredibly sad at the same time. "For so many years my heart had been a block of ice. Then she came to warm it. I offered it to her as a present, a sign of my endless affection and undying love – and she threw it to the ground and trampled around on it till my heart, that tiny part of me which I had thought to be beautiful for some moments, was nothing but a bloody pulp."

I swallowed hard. His words touched me more than I could have imagined. If my chorus girls had seen me like that – their stern, unmerciful ballet teacher on the verge of tears because of the Opera Ghost´s story! Yet when the first tear made its way down my cheek it was stopped, caught by a bony finger that touched me cautiously, brushing against my cheek as softly as a feather.

"I don´t want your pity, madame. Don´t you dare cry!" His warning was less impressive than usual because of the small sounds he made while speaking. It took me a few seconds to identify them as the kind of noise one produced while desperately trying to hold back sobs. "Erik, can I…?" I neither finished the sentence nor waited for a reaction. I simply turned around to face him. My gaze was immediately drawn to the place where the sounds had come from, his mouth. Now he had actually stuffed his fist into it to prevent him from losing his composure. I gasped as I saw that he was gnawing on it so hard that there were traces of blood.

His eyes widened in shock when he noticed I was looking at him. Obviously he assumed that the gasp had been caused by his appearance. Only now did I take in his whole face. Maybe seeing it twice made it less frightening. Maybe my reaction while seeing him on stage had mainly mirrored the people around me uttering their disgust. Maybe the candlelight was more gentle than the full lighting in the opera. Whatever the reason was, his face didn´t make me feel appalled. I gave him a kind, warm-hearted smile, which was quite unusual for me.

I seized his wrist and pulled his hand out of his mouth. Bringing his fingers closer to my eyes I examined them, relieved to find nothing but a couple of superficial marks that would heal quickly. I was strangely reminded of looking at Meg´s knees when she had been younger. They had been permanently injured since she hadn´t been able to resist the temptation of running and climbing at every possible occasion. Wondering whether the same treatment would work in this case I kissed his knuckles, one after the other.

He snatched his hand away from he. I looked at him with a sheepish smile. "I was only trying to help.", I muttered. "By _kissing _me? By reminding me of this… this Judas kiss of hers?" He stared at me, his expression changing rapidly from indignant to utterly helpless. "I had never been kissed before, Mme.Giry.", he told me in a small voice. "Perhaps I had expected too much. How could I have had the idea that someone would show me affection like that? Not even my mother could…" "But kissing can also be different.", I said seriously. "Like this…" Hesitantly I brought my lips to his.


	3. Chapter Three

**Author´s note:** Thanks for the reviews - you can be sure I enjoyed them. _Warning:_ If reading about people over a certain age sharing physical intimacy (nothing explicit of course - the story still deserves its T rating) makes you uncomfortable, you should better not go on.

**Chapter Three**

It wasn´t supposed to be like this. I had only meant to console him, hadn´t I? Then why was I enjoying the gentle touch of his lips so much? ´The next time I want to comfort someone I should better hold their hands instead of forcing a kiss on them.´, I thought. I saw the astonishment in his eyes and felt even guiltier than before. He was probably just too polite to push me aside. The least I could do was ending it quickly and apologise for my outburst of emotion.

But it wasn´t that easy. As soon as he felt the slightest movement one of his arms wrapped itself around my waist while his other hand came to a halt on the back of head, pushing it forward rather forcefully. _Too_ forcefully – our jaws collided painfully, and I could taste blood on my lips, not knowing whether it was his or my own. He took advantage of my confusion by invading my mouth with his tongue. For someone who had only done this once he was surprisingly determined.

Surely it was wrong that I pulled him into an even closer embrace. Erik – I still had difficulties in calling him that, even in my mind – had probably never known much love in his life. So it was only natural that he longed for physical contact. But what was my excuse for behaving like a lust-driven young girl, for pressing myself shamelessly against his cold body, trying to warm him? True, since Jaques had passed away there had been a certain emptiness in my life, yet I had thought I could cope with it. ´Antoinette Giry can cope with everything. She´s a strong woman, always in control.´ That was the opinion of others, and for a long time I had believed it myself. Up to now I had had no idea how good it felt to let oneself go… It had to be wrong, but I couldn´t stop.

Apparently he had no intention to stop any soon either. On the contrary, I felt his hand sneak from my waist to the front, over my stomach and eventually arriving at my breasts. At first his touch was so light that I hardly noticed it happened, but then he seemed to grow more confident and started stroking them in a very sensual way. When my need for air became too strong I managed to break the kiss, and we both gasped for breath. That would have been the right moment to end this, but neither of us wanted to. While his fingers played with the buttons of my dress, undoing one after the other, I impatiently removed his cloak. It landed on the candlestick that had fallen down a long, long time ago.

The candles burnt down and, one by one, went out. We didn´t care. When one was with Erik light became as superfluous as speaking. His fingers caressed me softly, like the wings of butterflies, exploring every inch of me. Not once did I have to tell him what to do; he simply kept trying till he had found the right spots. If this was the way he composed, I could guess how wonderful his music had to sound. Soon the pressure that had been building up in my stomach overwhelmed me, and I moaned his name, his _real_ name.

With _his_ body it was much more difficult. At first he refused to be touched at all, pushing my hands away almost roughly. But I didn´t give up. I ran them through the few strands of hair that were left on his head and up and down his cheeks, hoping he´d gradually get used to the feeling. Indeed the tension seemed to vanish after a while, and when I kissed him again it was he who brought my fingers to his shirt.

But the moment I let my hand wander down his body to his trousers he saw the need to stop me verbally. "Please don´t!", he whispered hoarsely. "Why not?", I wanted to know, a little confused. Had I really heard a trace of panic in his voice? "It won´t hurt you, I promise. You´ll like it.", I tried to argue, yet he said flatly: "I don´t deserve this kind of physical affection. You cannot want to share this with someone, some_thing_ like me.". Ignoring his last sentence I asked: "When you touched me did you think about whether I deserved it?". "Of course not!", he replied. "I just wanted to make you feel good. You´ve always been so kind to me." The honesty and innocence of his answer almost made me burst into tears again, and I wondered if he had even been allowed to touch a woman, intimately or not. "And I want to make you feel good, Erik. A part of you is already enjoying it." I smiled at him in the darkness, not mentioning that this part was currently pressing against my by now exposed thigh. "So why don´t you let the rest of you follow?"

Finally he even helped me take off his trousers, and I was allowed to stroke him. I couldn´t see his face, but the sounds he made, let alone the rather obvious sign I moved my hand over, showed me that he liked what I was doing. He wasn´t caressing me anymore, concentrating entirely on the new sensations I caused, but it didn´t matter. It didn´t even matter that he was finished very quickly. I only smiled again, wiping my hands clean with a handkerchief. This man deserved a bit of happiness more than any other I knew, whatever he may think about it. "Thank you.", he whispered before falling asleep.

Without wasting a single thought about the scene Meg would find when she got home I wrapped my arms around his naked body and drifted off into a light slumber as well. I knew Erik and I would have to talk about all this later, but at the moment I was content with what I had… Some time later – it could have been hours as well as minutes – I woke up because Erik was moaning in his sleep. "Christine… oh, Christine…"


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

I felt as if I had been slapped in the face. Of course. I should have known that Christine would always remain the only woman in Erik´s heart. After all, I had seen them on stage together, merely hours ago. The sexual tension between them had been almost visible. And unintentionally I had provided him with an outlet for all those energy – me. _That_ had been the reason for initially refusing me: He had wanted to wait with these things, hoping to experience them with her sometime. Even with him having finally given in to me, doubtlessly imagining to be with Christine, in a way he had succeeded. He´d be able to forget what had happened between us quickly and go on brooding about the chances of his beloved ever coming back to him.

My mind was racing. One second I wanted to yell at him how he could have used me like that. The next second I wanted to yell at myself. Why hadn´t I noticed anything? How could I have enjoyed what he had probably considered nothing but some meaningless caresses? And worst of all: Why did his body next to mine still feel so good?

I had to get out of here. Maybe I´d calm down when I´d be away from him. I could go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water, thinking about what to do. Yet as I tried to stand up Erik´s movements became stronger; his dream was probably turning into a nightmare. I realised that I couldn´t leave him alone in this state. He´d certainly fall from the sofa and hurt himself. The thought sounded quite appealing, but then my momentary meanness was gone again. At least I had to wake him up.

Bending over him I seized his shoulder and was about to shake it when he started uttering choked whispers, as if he was in pain. "Christine, no… please don´t… you cannot just go… I… don´t leave me!" Without thinking twice I put my arms around his shaking body, pulling both of us into a sitting position, and let his head rest against my bosom, rocking him back and forth. "Sh… It´s all right.", I muttered soothingly. "I´m here with you. You´re not alone." I repeated the sentences over and over till his breath became even again.

Moments later he lifted his head and looked up at me. To my surprise he didn´t object to being treated like a child, pressed against the very breasts he had caressed lovingly not too long ago. All he said was: "She´s gone, isn´t she?". "Yes, she´s gone.", I replied, wishing I could give him a different answer. "I thought that maybe I´d wake up and find out that everything has only been a dream…", he murmured before burying his face at my chest once more.

I noticed a warm liquid trickling down my skin and knew Erik was crying. I was sure my heart wouldn´t be able to take much more sadness without being torn to pieces by it, and I was only the witness. How did he cope with all this darkness in his own heart? Suddenly I knew I´d do anything to help him. Even if he didn´t appreciate the present I had given him, I´d do it again if it made him feel better. Why? The reason was simple.

His tears having subsided, he straightened up. Only now did he seem to realise the significance of the part of my body he had been leaning against. It was hard to tell without any source of light in the room, but I could have sworn that he blushed. "And the things which happened between you and me…" "…were not a dream either.", I finished. His gaze wandered down his body, then fell on mine. Noticing that we both didn´t wear anything he snatched his cloak and hastily tried to cover… not himself, but me.

"I can´t tell you how sorry I am for intruding into your privacy, Mme.Giry.", he said, staring at the candelabra intently, apparently determined not to look at me. "I shouldn´t have taken advantage of you like that. You only tried to comfort me, and I…" I frowned. How could his recollection of the incident be so crucially different from my own? "Erik, listen to me. You didn´t do anything wrong. I enjoyed all this.", I explained. Seizing my chance to find out what I had pondered on earlier I went on: "And you?".

For a second I was sure I had seen him give a small smile, as if the memory was a particularly pleasant one. But then something strange happened: Instead of showing signs of relief that he had not done things against my will he started picking up his clothes from the floor, eventually standing up to get dressed. When he was about to put on the first piece of clothing I managed to speak. "I guess your reaction means you didn´t like it.", I stated matter-of-factly. "Why didn´t you just say so? Do I matter so little to you that you didn´t even bother to tell me?"

The trousers fell from Erik´s hands as he sat down again. Slowly he brushed his thumb over my cheek. "On the contrary, Antoinette.", he whispered softly. The combination of his touch and the deliberate use of my first name made my legs go weak. "I do care for you, maybe more than you´ll ever know. But I must not forget Christine. When you and I… you know, I only thought about you. And our kisses… they were even better than with her! But how can that be?" "Maybe because I have more experience in kissing than Christine.", I said quite calmly, despite the warmth that had developed in my stomach at his words. He had thought about me? "Or because we were under less pressure. Or because…" I took a deep breath, summoning all my courage. "…because I love you."


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

He said nothing. I had poured out the contents of my heart, probably making a complete fool of myself… and he said nothing. It was getting light. The first shadows dissolved, and we kept looking at each other. I was holding my breath, waiting for his reaction, and it almost seemed as if he did the same. It was a blissful time, without sadness and rejection. Everything was still possible. Yet with every second the dull throbbing in my head became stronger. Reason was knocking at the door of my mind, telling me that some things were not possible, as much as I wanted them to be.

"Just forget what I said, will you?", I broke the silence, hoping it was too dark for him to see that my eyes were full of tears as I practically took back what I had longed to say for such a long time. "How could I? You were the first person even to use these words meaning me. I´ve dreamed of hearing them since I can remember." "But I´m not the woman you wanted to hear them from.", I said quietly. "I´m not Christine." "Yes, but… how could this have happened?" For a second I was puzzled, then I understood what he was referring to. "You mean how I fell in love with you? There were thousands of small things. The letter of condolence… the white lilies for my birthday… these expensive ballet shoes for Meg – I told her I couldn´t afford them, and the next morning they were in Box Five… Every day I liked you more, and without even realising it I was in love. It was ridiculous for an ugly woman of my age, and I was certain that in a place so full of beautiful girls you´d be bound to find one soon. You can´t imagine how relieved I was that you didn´t choose Meg. I could have never coped with it." I stopped, exhausted from speaking so much about such private matters.

"You´re not ugly.", he said gently. Of all the information I had given him he had picked this one to talk about first? "These girls´ beauty will fade away, and they´ll end up in the big mass of mediocrity. This could never happen to you, Antoinette. Every single of these lines…" He began to trace several of my wrinkles with his index finger, and I closed my eyes momentarily to revel in the sensations it was causing. "…tells a story. I can see stories of laughter and of sadness. Don´t ever try to cover them with rouge and powder like the other women do! It would destroy everything."

"And what about you?", I asked courageously. "What is it I see in your face?" "Hate. Fear. Terror." Each word he uttered with so much emotion that it seemed to stand for hundreds he suppressed. "How can you tell?", I wanted to know. "I don´t think you have many mirrors in your home." "I don´t need one.", he hissed. "I can see it very clearly in the eyes of the people who are unlucky enough to meet me. Oh yes, I can see it, even when I wear my mask."

I moved closer, so that our bodies were almost touching. "Look at me, Erik. What do you see in my eyes?" He took a long time to answer, and I felt as if I´d lose myself in his eyes. If only his gaze could be on me forever! "Warmth", he finally whispered. "Affection. And…" I nodded encouragingly. "…and love.", he finished barely audibly before his lips met mine in a short and tender kiss.

"Did you know that I needed sixteen days to find out what your favourite flowers were?", he asked, running a hand over my shiny black bun. "You´re not a very open person." "Look who´s talking – until tonight I didn´t even know your name.", I reminded him. I wasn´t sure what to make of his actions. Did he simply like me or was there more? "Until tonight you didn´t seem to be that interested in me. Id have never tried to approach you on _this_ level. As strange as it might sound: I was afraid of losing you. You were the only person who didn´t despise me.", he said. I couldn´t hold myself back any longer. "Are you trying to tell me that you were in love with me?", I blurted out. "No.", he said flatly, and my heart sank. "I _am_ in love with you."

"But… but that´s impossible! You can´t…! What about… Christine?", I stammered, entirely confused. My heart was beating wildly, but I refused to strike the match that would set it on fire yet. I had to be certain. "I can´t deny that I loved her very much, and maybe still do it. Yet she has hurt me a lot. Running away with this young handsome Vicomte… you wouldn´t do this to me." Emptying a bucket of cold water over my heart would have had the same effect. "So you´re only telling me about your feelings because it is safer with a woman who won´t find someone young and handsome anyway? Thank you for this lovely compliment!", I muttered bitterly.

"No!", he exclaimed, cupping my face with his large hands, and even if I didn´t want it, my body reacted to his touch: My cheeks flushed. "Well, actually you are right in a way. You´re a woman. Christine is a girl. I can´t blame her for falling for a man with charm and a nice smile. With you it´s different – I can be sure that your feelings are true and won´t change, even if you meet someone more good-looking than me. Not that this would be too difficult. Just have a look at the gargoyles at Notre Dame…", he added with a hint of sarcasm. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, Christine´s decision had shaken him to the very core of his existence.

I gave a small sigh. Improving his self-confidence wouldn´t be an easy task. "When you just looked into my eyes, did you see anything that told you I cared about your appearance? What you said about me is also true for you: There is no need to hide your face. It is perfect just like it is because it´s a part of you.", I said softly. "But it´s a part that makes all people hate me.", he argued. "I don´t hate you.", I reminded him. Instead of replying he pressed a hand against his temple, apparently about to get a headache. "It has been a long day, and you´ve given me many things to think about.", he muttered. "Would you mind if we continued this conversation another time?"

"I´m sorry. I shouldn´t have talked for such a long time.", I said with an apologetic smile. "Just one more thing: I know you´ll probably have feelings for Christine forever, but I don´t care. If you want to be with me… I mean, as a couple, you´d make me a very happy woman, and I would try my best to make you happy as well. Of course you don´t have to decide anything right now. But you shouldn´t go back to the opera; they´ll still look for you there. You could stay here… in the guest room, that is.", I added quickly. "That would be very friendly, Antoinette." We stood up and dressed, yet when he made his way to the door I merely called: "It´s the first room on the right-hand side.". "Don´t you want to rest a little yourself? After all, you spent the whole night dealing with the problems of a stupid old man." It was quite touching to see Erik discover his sense of humour, but I shook my head. "I´ll wait for Meg. I should better tell her that there´s a stupid old man sleeping in out guest room." He chuckled slightly – a sound that was music in my ears – and left.

I sat down again, and a few minutes later I heard a key turn, and Meg entered the room, with dirty clothes, untidy hair and sparkling eyes. "You won´t believe all the things that happened after your departure!", she almost shouted, her voice full of excitement. Silently and patiently I listened to her adventures, my thoughts wandering off to Erik. For some reason I didn´t doubt we´d stay together, as friends or as lovers. We´d help each other to cope with fears and insecurities and the ghosts of the past. Together we´d get out of the shadows.

**The End**


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